


Again, Again, Again

by JointExisting



Category: Yu-Gi-Oh! - All Media Types, Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Duel Monsters, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Forehead Kisses, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Issues, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mutou Yuugi Needs a Hug, Post-Yu-Gi-Oh! The Dark Side of Dimensions, i mean kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:00:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27120788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JointExisting/pseuds/JointExisting
Summary: We are together, one and always.Atem’s eyes shone, saying what his lips could not, as the colours of Ancient Egypt flooded through the pitched, darkened landscape of Yugi’s deserted and too silent mind.My partner.After the duel with Diva, Yugi sees Atem again.And again.And again.But that’s what a mirror is for—right?
Relationships: Atem/Mutou Yuugi, Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi
Comments: 11
Kudos: 62





	1. So Much Like Him

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, I have far more important things to be working on rn but here’s something that wouldn’t leave me alone. As a sidenote, I am now convinced ‘again’ is not a real word because I can no longer pronounce it. Enjoy.
> 
> _Skim-edited and proofed._

###### 

It happened suddenly: A single moment in the restless, inorganic pursuit of time and a stilted gasp of scattered, wanton breaths from city-damaged lungs. For an instant, beneath the purple aura of the universe, the world was suspended from existence and life wavered from one beat to the next—and then it was over—and then he was gone.

Again.

The conversation between them had been brief: hours managed into minutes and pressed into seconds. Neither of them could quite prepare for the last conjoined beat of their heart, as the light ran away and left an ever-present chill in the surrounding air, and the final ending spilt from the false horizon over the Kaiba Dome. The tension around Yugi, once charged from the spiralling duel with Diva, was made placid and exhausted by the exchange; by the heartfelt plea straining from Atem’s sombre mind to his. Yugi felt ripped from the inside out as the words rushed through his subconscious:

 _We are together, one and always._ Atem’s eyes shone, saying what his lips could not, as the colours of Ancient Egypt flooded through the pitched, darkened landscape of Yugi’s deserted and too silent mind. _My partner_.

When he came down from the ethereal high, Yugi met the silent prodding of his head again—it nearly broke him, standing alone in the massive stadium, not quite understanding the quiet; the intrusion from Atem’s spirit had filled the deep cast of his shadow and now, once again, he had been stripped of the sun-drenched warmth and the sweet smells of cinnamon he had greeted openly – one might say fondly – like the encompassing embrace of an old friend missing for years—and again.

Again. Again. Again. Again. Why did he have to feel it again? Why did he have to be ripped apart again?

Yugi picked himself up and stood through the grating silences, the hallowed conversations. He did everything to get through and get home. He spoke to his friends; spoke to Kaiba; spoke to himself as he wandered back to the Gameshop tired, sweaty, and sick from the sudden evaporation of the spirit’s passing presence through him. He lay down in bed and slept for two days, waking in fits of muttering and murmuring, thinking and feeling the existence of something, of someone, of all their flaws and blemishes—but he was never able to grasp them, to hear anything more than a faint, evoking whisper and feel their lingering pressure against his arms.

_Again. Again. Again._

When, finally, Yugi pulled himself out of bed on Monday and went to Graduation, he felt briefly refreshed and able to stand and walk and sit and converse without tired fingers slicing into his head and pulling through all of his memories. They hurt, his memories, he realised when the night drew down around him and he hit the streets running with Joey, Tea, Bakura and Tristan. They hurt, they did; his memories of himself and Atem and all they had done together—it hurt in a way it never had before.

His friends noticed – because they would, and because it was obvious, even to Yugi, he was not himself. He had not been himself for a long time, now—but this was different; a different not-him.

It was made that much more evident when they stepped through the door to that nightclub, as soon as he felt the pressure on the back of his neck and knew someone – an old or new foe; it made little difference – was watching him. The sensation was prickling, forceful, and he wasted no time in practically somersaulting into a duel with all the exhaustive excitement he remembered having once had, before the _again, again, again_ mantra had started in the Kaiba Dome.

For the first time since their latest goodbye, Yugi felt alive.

###### 

It didn’t take a socking genius, although Joey would argue he was one, to see Yugi for what he really was nowadays: what, or rather, who, he’d slowly been progressing into since before the Diva incident.

Yugi hadn’t just been a host for the Pharaoh’s spirit, and they hadn’t just shared a connection and a body for so many years – no way! The supposed minuscule differences between them and the ‘End’ in Egypt—well, Joey had been there through the thick and the thin, through the Island and the City and all the weird bits in between and, though at times he might have considered it, he’d now come to the realisation it was the damn truth, or at least near to it: The ‘End’ had definitely not been the ‘End’.

Not for the Pharaoh’s influence on Yugi, that’s for sure.

 _He’s just, wow, he’s just so much like him_ , thought Joey briefly, fleetingly, as he chowed down on a hotdog, sitting on Domino City’s sad excuse for a beach. It was Yugi’s apology for getting them kicked outta the club. Apparently, that idiot duelist Yugi had (rightfully, legally) challenged was the owner’s half-wit brother, and no one was allowed to win a duel against him. What a dud!—Even Tristan coulda duelled circles around him! Jeez.

Yugi slaughtered him in three turns. It was brutal. He’d spoken through the whole thing, loud and pride, openly and with absolute conviction he’d previously kept stowed away. He’d said things with witty, unconfined confidence, and duelled with every ounce of his deck’s bullish strength, seeing through the idiot for what he truly was: A big baby who hated losing. Yugi put him in his place, though, and made some telling remarks about becoming a better duellist—yarda-yarda—and then they’d gotten kicked out when the half-wit idiot baby complained! Well, they’d never have Joey Wheeler as a customer again. Hah!

Throughout eating, Joey watched as his friend picked himself apart from the inside out. Despite the liveliness Yugi had shown while duelling, he’d since gotten noticeably quieter and subdued—but even so, he still wasn’t acting like the Yugi Joey loved as one of his greatest friends. Nah, this Yugi was... older, with crushing and crushable confidence in equal measures. Whether he was aware of it or not, Yugi was obviously (subconsciously? Eh?) trying to step into those well-worn leather shoes.

 _You’re becoming just like him_ , Joey concluded, a short smile quirking his lip. He ignored Tristan calling attention to it, compelled to by the sharp look of determination in Yugi’s eyes when they turned on him. His eyes, once round and innocent, had gained a natural slant in recent months, telling of smooth intelligence and well-settled, aged worthiness. Encompassing was a good word for him and his eyes: Yugi’s eyes encompassed the galaxy and all her knowledge.

_I shoulda worked harder in English. I coulda been a poet._

It didn’t take a genius (but, as already established, Joey was definitely a genius) to see Yugi had captured the essence of Atem through their years together, and they’d become one and the same. Why become so deliberate about it now, though? Grief? In memory of him? Or maybe just because that was how it was meant to be? There was definitely something to it, so Joey thought; some sadness, something like Yugi needing the elements of him, of Atem, of needing to make up for what he’d lost.

Joey’s smile faltered with observed understanding, but he quickly upturned his lips when Yugi asked if he was all right. “Yeah. I’m good, Yug.” But was Yugi? They’d figure it out eventually.

They were good at that.

###### 

_Oh, you’re trying to be so much like him, Yugi_ , thought Tea as they strode through the bustling airport a few weeks after graduation, manoeuvring around the crowds with relative ease thanks to Yugi’s more than casual celebrity and his well-photographed head of hair. It was a sight, really, watching Yugi – the once short, stumpy, socially-awkward Yugi – break from their group to sign a few autographs every now and again with the cool confidence he’d acquired recently.

The old Yugi never would have done that so fluidly—but would Atem? He had been grandiose, yes, but Yugi had kept him in check while allowing Atem his own-brand of boundless courage. Their partnership had been a balancing act and, to Tea’s sudden realisation, that balance was once and for all completely, absolutely _gone_. Yugi, who had had to spend so long acknowledging ‘The Other Me’, was now struggling with the loneliness of his one true personality and it was manifesting in some... She wanted to say surprising ways, but perhaps it wasn’t so surprising? Was it a surprise Yugi was falling inside the black, unable to regain neither the entirety of himself nor the entity of Atem?

He was still attempting to sustain two different personas by his own creation, melding them slowly into one—into a connected mess of himself and Atem, but without Atem there to balance him out. He was, Tea realised with a mixture of sadness and pity, wearing himself down... And there wasn’t anything she could do about it, not where she was going. The struggle he was undertaking was personal, traipsing through the same trauma the Pharaoh had for all those years: the identity crisis.

Was Yugi replacing what he couldn’t live without by taking on traits? By slowly following the course of history? He was growing up slenderer, Tea had noticed, his body slowly fashioning into the wiry handsomeness of Atem with all its sharp edges and flickering movements. Was this how it was meant to play out? Was this the fate Yugi would come to?

“So much like him,” muttered Tea, as the loudspeaker proclaimed her flight to New York was boarding. As she turned, flashing a smile over her shoulder at them, she whispered beneath the cheers, “Be strong, Yugi.”

The rest, as they say, would be history.

###### 

Tea had been gone for a month now, and Tristan’s absence from the group had gotten continuously and noticeably prolonged since taking work in his father’s factory. Bakura saw him once or twice on the street, hurrying this way and that. Sometimes he was in a suit; sometimes in workout clothes; sometimes with a pretty young woman from their humanities class on his arm. He definitely hadn’t deserted them, Bakura knew, but Tristan – like the rest of them – had a life, now.

Then again, Bakura wasn’t wholly sure he could be officially counted in the ‘having a life’ bracket.

Bakura idly stirred his cup of tea, staring around the large Domino City shopping centre as he waited patiently for Yugi to arrive. They were meant to meet in ten minutes, but Bakura arrived earlier to have a catch up with Duke. “So, Tristan’s off with his girl, Joey’s off duelling, and Tea’s in America, right?” Duke chatted during an apparently lax moment at the stand, his boss having enticed a woman from one of the high-end clothes retailers into the storage rooms. Bakura shivered at the thought and doubled his focus on the conversation.

“Exactly right, yes,” Bakura replied, the unsubtle hitch of his high British accent settling in the back of his throat.

“And Yugi’s...”

Bakura flicked his eyes around them before turning back to Duke. “Oh, Duke. He’s so much like _him_ now.” He wrapped a hand around his cup, setting the stirrer to one side. “It’s depressing.”

“You mean – ah – the Pharaoh?”

“Yes.”

Duke leant his elbow on to the counter, his expression as puzzled as Bakura felt. “What d’you mean it’s depressing?”

“I mean- I mean I haven’t... I haven’t changed as such. The spirit of the ring didn’t change the basis of who I am: I’m still British.” Duke parted his lips and raised an eyebrow, sweeping a look from Bakura to his cup of tea. Bakura continued speaking, having not noticed the look—but if he had, he wouldn’t have mentioned it. “But Yugi... Well, he’s just _different_ , Duke; you’ll see what I mean when he gets here. His confidence isn’t the same as it was – it’s not humble, now, but so much more like Atem’s. He walks defiantly, he squares his shoulders—and when he duels, Duke...” Bakura took his tea, sipped, set it down and reached for one of the stale biscuits Duke had given him from a packet he found beneath the sink. He dipped it into his tea. “His voice mellows out; it’s like he channels the Pharaoh.”

“But... The puzzle’s... gone, right?” Duke asked, though he already knew the answer: They’d discussed it a few hundred times by now. “D’you think it has something to do with their _connection?_ ”

“Not vividly,” Bakura replied primly, talking around the mouthful of soppy biscuit. “The puzzle’s gone; the spirit’s gone. But Yugi—he’s growing up to be so much like him. It’s like being a vessel for Atem’s soul for so many years changed Yugi’s entire way of it all.” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s depressing because there’s no Yugi and there’s no Atem—there’s just this sad mixture of them both.”

“Speaking of Yugi,” Duke coughed, gesturing. He leapt behind the counter, readied the coffee machine and, after serving Yugi the black coffee (“No sweetener? You used to have sweetener...”), Duke whistled and cleaned and tried hard not to appear as if he were eavesdropping on his friends’ private conversation.

“It’s so good to see you, Yugi,” Bakura said with a blessed smile, his cheeks slightly brightened. “How are you enjoying life?”

“It’s good, thank you,” Yugi responded, his voice having progressively gotten a little lower over time; it wasn’t as deep as Atem’s, but it had that fluid laugh and that slight purr—that same dangerous undercurrent. “Now that my grandfather is semi-retired, I’m taking on more duties in the shop: stock, inventory—I’m thinking we’ll branch out a little, to bring in some more customers.” He stirred his coffee and did not meet the other man’s gentler, searching eyes. “Duel Monsters isn’t the only game out there worth playing, after all. There’s plenty more trading cards we can stock, and I was thinking we’d buy up some niche games, too. Where there’s special interest, there’s money – and, to be honest, the shop could do with some repairs.”

Although it became clearer as Yugi bristled on through his chatter, it took Bakura a moment to realise Yugi’s concentration never once left his mug as he spoke, the shine of his eyes never shifting up or away from it. He was distancing himself, and that was rather too plainly obvious and Bakura... wasn’t sure what to feel about that.

It felt anti-Yugi. He was and would remain for several years yet the King of Games: the champion of Duel Monsters, and of course he still picked up his deck every day before coming out—Bakura could see it, carefully-sleeved in the pocket of his coat, but- _oh, Yugi_...

Was that the Dark Magician deck? Or something else? Bakura narrowed his eyes and leant a little closer, trying to fix his sight on the picture poking ou- “Bakura?”

Startled, Bakura flung himself back against his chair. He sat up straight as his tea, thankfully no longer boiling hot, sloshed over and into his lap. “Ah...!”

“Bakura!” Yugi leapt to his feet, his voice deepening all at once. “Are you all right?”

“Check his pulse, Yugi!” Duke called out, half-joking, though it went unheard by both Yugi and Bakura in that moment as the Brit started awkwardly rubbing his hands into his sodden jeans.

“Oh, drat. I-I’m sorry, Yugi! I wasn’t concentrating,” Bakura replied, his skin prickling beneath his striped tee-shirt from the heat of his drink. “I— I suppose I really should – oh, I’m really sorry.”

“Please,” Yugi started, raising his palms, trying to down the attention coming to them from passersby. “Don’t apologise. We should get you to a medical centre, though; burns are definitely not something you should take lightly, Bakura.”

Bakura stared up into the fierce eyes of his friend, seeing the unsettling similarity to Atem’s rapid-thinking personality in them; the eagerness of life had been replaced by the awareness of mortality and, all of a sudden, Bakura felt he was younger and in the presence of the wise Pharaoh. He brought himself back to the present a moment later, shaking his head. “Yugi, really, I am fine.” Unpicking the strong fingers clasping his shoulder, Bakura pushed Yugi away and stood up.

“Tissues.” Duke appeared at the side of their table, handing a wad of tissues to Bakura. He then turned to Yugi, one hand up. “Don’t worry, Yugi. Bakura was here for a while before you, so I doubt his tea would cause any serious physical damage... His pride, however...”

Bakura blushed seventeen shades of red and took his leave to the mall bathrooms at Yugi’s request to check he really was OK—otherwise, they’d definitely be heading to the medical centre. Although Duke stuck around to chat a while, he was on the job and customers started coming thick and fast as the afternoon wore on. Yugi sat down and finished his drink, allotting his time to glancing through his recently-remade deck while he waited on Bakura.

When the Brit arrived, twiddling his thumbs, Yugi was up immediately and the two were off to the Domino Hospital. Bakura assured Yugi nothing was wrong, but the insistence in his voice and eyes was reminiscent of the past and, begrudged, Bakura agreed to go and see a medical professional to confirm it would only be blisters at worst.

Getting the all clear was still a relief, though.

Leaving together, Bakura said, “You didn’t have to hang around, Yugi. You probably have much more interesting things to do than make sure a little tea incident doesn’t lead to my imminent death.”

“Nonsense,” Yugi replied, his voice somewhere between heavy and light. “It was nice to see you, Bakura. Do you need to go anywhere, now, or...? I mean, we could hit the arcade or...”

“Actually, I have to pick up dinner. I don’t want to bore you, though.” Bakura wafted his hands at Yugi, and then towards the rest of the city. “I’m sure you can probably find something much more interesting to do – look over there! There’s a duel going on.”

Yugi turned his head and stared for a moment at the two young duellists facing off against one another; one had just summoned Toon World, and his opponent was looking on in distress. “Interesting,” Yugi replied, turning back to Bakura. “All right, then. Would you like to meet again soon?”

“That would be wonderful, Yugi! When’s Joey back?”

“Another few days, I think.” Yugi’s voice had, briefly, returned to its pitched one as he spoke languidly, his fingers brushing into his pocket to remove his deck. “I dare say he’ll want to duel me when he gets back, so maybe I should get some practice in.”

“You don’t need practice, Yugi,” Bakura replied, grabbing out his wallet. He shook it, a few droplets of tea flinging off, and he gave a noisy sigh. “Maybe I’ll head home and change first... Bye, Yugi!”

“Goodbye, Bakura.”

Bakura flicked a look over his shoulder as he left. He eyed Yugi’s raised posture and the heightened tilt of his chin and abruptly paused to watch him walk across to the duellists with purposeful strides, hands in his pockets, and in the shadow of daylight Bakura swore for a few heartbeats it was Atem.

But then, a moment later, it was Yugi and his deck and Bakura inhaled as he turned to walk back to his apartment.

As he walked away, he sent a silent prayer to the universe, should it be listening: _Oh, Yugi, please: don’t try to be him _.__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, I dislike writing Tea... Like? Her character is just that in-between of OTT and bitchy? And it’s difficult? Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you’ll read on! Next chap. on Monday. Stay safe out there -J


	2. One World to Another

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> > “You’re so much like him, you know,” Grandpa said in his frailest voice after they had finished up their dinner and all the washing up was drying on the rack. The old man was preparing for bed, although he did not appear very tired, but that was what was expected of an old man at eight o’clock. “But you’re also not like him at all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t exactly remember whether Pegasus dies in the anime (because 4k*ds), or if it was just in the manga, so Pegasus is featured by name in this chapter briefly.  
> I hope you enjoy this conclusion!

###### 

Days and then weeks came and went. Kaiba, as he does, announced a Duel Monsters tournament towards the end of summer. Joey, astonishingly, was pre-invited and damn was he _ready_ to compete after his time training up in the leagues, winning duels and taking names—or, rather, cards. By the time the tournament would roll around, he would have restructured his deck between ten and fourteen times.

When Yugi’s invite arrived at the door by way of one of Kaiba’s shady henchmen dropping it off, Yugi accepted on the spot so he could return to making his and his grandfather’s dinner with delay.

“And was he excited?” asked Kaiba, turning in his spinning chair to face his goon; behind the man’s ever-present sunglasses, Kaiba thought he saw the slightest hint of emotion. How arrogant of him to have such a thing. Kaiba sat up properly, twisting his hands into each other. “Did he seem enthralled by the chance to duel me again? Now that all this... stuff with the Pharaoh is finally put to rest?”

“Well, Mr. Kaiba, he seemed... How you would expect him to seem.”

“I don’t expect him to seem anything, Roland. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m running a company and I don’t exactly have time to drop in for tea and biscuits with the little twerp.” Kaiba pyramided his fingers and turned his back on the tall hulk of the man, instead flicking his eyes up to stare across Domino City. He changed the subject. “How is the prep for the tournament going?”

“Mr. Pegasus was very forthcoming about renting his Duellist Kingdom for the event, Mr. Kaiba. We have prepped the area extensively, and are just putting the final touches to it, as requested.”

Kaiba did not react vocally. Instead, he flapped his wrist to send Roland on his way. When the door shut behind the goon, Kaiba muttered into the thrum of the room’s charged atmosphere, “Of course Pegasus is forthcoming about renting his stupid island: he’s getting a great deal.” Although not wanting to murmur the specifics, Kaiba ran through the ever-increasing bill in his head as he rose from his chair to find Mokuba.

He didn’t have to search long.

“Seto!” Mokuba, still such a child, approached his big brother with a giant grin. “Everything’s signed off, big bro. Jeez; I can’t wait to participate in this one myself! Feels great to finally have my own proper deck, and not be stuck playing _Capsule Monsters_!”

“I’m glad you’re excited, Mokuba,” Kaiba replied, eyeing the business folks walking up and down the hallways. He calmly led his small brother into more private quarters, sat them down and said, “I need you to do something for me.”

“Of course! What is it, Seto?”

“Keep an eye on Yugi for me.” Setting Mokuba with a firm stare Kaiba drew back into the chair, reclining. “Ever since we last saw each other, I’ve had this feeling there’s something wrong – And when I met the Pharaoh just recently on my trip into the past... I’ve not told you this, Mokuba, but—but he never spoke to me—no matter how much I goaded him, pushed him—I even commented on that stupid quiff of his, but he never reacted.” He stretched his long fingers and lined palm again palm, creating a timely pyramid, and turned his stare on the window and Domino City beyond it as though he were searching for the humble duellist he took pride in having such particular issues with.

“Maybe he didn’t recognise you?” Mokuba tried, his sharp eyes narrowing in consideration.

Kaiba shook his head, breaking his hands apart to roll his wrists. “No. He definitely knew who I was.” Running a hand through his hair, Kaiba bit out, “I thought going back to duel him would rid this- this incomplete feeling inside of me but if anything it has only gotten stronger...”

Mokuba reached over and set a hand on his brother’s shoulder, squeezing gently to provide some semblance of comfort, “It’s OK, big brother; I understand.” He nodded forcefully, his expression squaring. “Maybe you just need to duel Yugi in an old-fashioned tournament again. Using Duellist Kingdom was a great idea! Although...” Drawing back, Mokuba pursed his lips and lastly added, “I still don’t understand how you got Pegasus to agree.”

“Oh, that was simple, Mokuba,” Kaiba replied, rubbing his tired eyes. “I just offered him something he couldn’t refuse: dinner with us every Sunday for an entire year, plus Christmas.”

“... Big bro, he tried to _kidnap_ me.”

“And he tried to kill me. Your point, Moky?”

"None, Seto..."

###### 

Kaiba’s tournament, Duellist Kingdom Revisited, approached in the same vain as all the others had before it—except there was no world-ending event, no tell-nothing prophecy or hooded card-stealing goons. From one day to the next, nothing really changed. Yugi opened the shop on the Thursday, and closed it with a ‘Be Back Soon!’ sign the next. “Bye, Grandpa!” He went into Central Domino and bought just enough snacks for the journey and the tournament so they wouldn’t starve and have to rely on Mai this time—if she would be there, even.

When the time came, Yugi set off to the harbour where he met up with Joey. The Duellist Kingdom boat, taken out of storage for the tournament, looked smaller now compared to the first time, and Yugi vaguely wondered whether it was his years of duelling experience, the absence of any nerves, or just the general condition of the barge that made him feel as if this was not going to be the big deal Kaiba wanted it to be.

(Despite Kaiba attempting to bar anyone not in the tournament from going to the island, Duke and Bakura somehow managed to sneak on board without any of the guards noticing—as such, anyway.)

The boat ride was nostalgic in and of itself, and briefly reminded Yugi of a simpler time: a time before saving the world when he still wasn’t sure of the presence inside of him, when the deep voice in his heart seemed like just a reflection of who he could be.

He could never be the Pharaoh, though. Of course he knew that.

What a laughable concept. _I need some water, obviously._

Even though Joey had pinned down his deck months ago, he still could not resist the urge of the trading floor. Yugi didn’t indulge in the activity, content enough with the shape of his Dark Magician deck to wander about the ship meeting old friends and acquaintances: Weevil, the bug duellist, was older now and less of the brat he had been for years upon years. He and Rex, the dino duellist, were practically inseparable these days. They were even going to the same university one day, or so they said.

It seemed to Yugi they were thinking of duelling together as a team instead of one-on-one.

“We’re not here to win,” Weevil told Yugi briefly, pushing up his glasses with his signature snigger.

“But we wouldn’t mind winning!” Rex grumbled, garish and loud, stuffing a handful of fries into his mouth.

Yugi left them as they began one of their well-rehearsed arguments, minding his way through the same-faced crowds to find Mai. He greeted her as an old friend, but the closeness just was not there; in fact, Yugi encountered the same feeling with everyone he spoke to – almost as if he’d never really known them in the first place.

In a way, he supposed they were not people he knew: they were people the _Pharaoh_ knew.

And Yugi was not the Pharaoh.

 _That’s OK. I think I’ll just get some water_.

###### 

Duellist Kingdom had been the start of it all (arguably).

When they disembarked onto the familiar island, Yugi wasted no time in jumping into duels. It was the same-old debacle after all: get a certain number of star chips and progress to Pegasus’s Castle. First six duellists to gain ten star chips qualify or something – yarda-yarda – and all that came along with it. Honestly, Yugi didn’t pay attention to Kaiba’s staged introduction with all its bells and whistles.

By the end of the first day Yugi had managed to duel for fourteen star chips and, after checking, he only needed ten. He handed four off to Joey and then left him and the gang to the stragglers and duels, walking aimlessly through the dense forests towards the Castle on the hill.

Just before he left the forest, he encountered a young boy – someone similar to his old self, his young self, his before-everything-happened self. He didn’t kick the kid’s butt; just handed him _Penguin Solider_ and continued onwards to the Castle. The kid wouldn’t survive the night, unfortunately—but maybe he’d grow up and become A Someone. Who knows?

On arrival, Roland let him in immediately upon seeing the old-fashioned star chips around Yugi’s wrist. “You might be waiting a few days,” the goon said, speaking harshly and with effect; the usual. “Are you sure you want to come in? You can hang about outside – play a few more duels?”

“Thanks, but I’m done,” Yugi replied, shrugging away the inept feelings of solitude in his stomach as he moved into and through the quiet castle, his footsteps echoing across the stones, and to the familiar bedroom quarters. He went to bed. He slept.

No one bothered him.

The run-up to the semi-finals lasted about as long as you would think. The final contestants ended up being Yugi (of course), Joey (understandably), Mokuba ( _Of course_ ), Rex and Weevil (somehow?) and some random kid he hadn’t bothered to take the name of. Mai just missed out, a star chip short, but no one seemed to mind. Yugi ignored her shrill voice bleating through the gates.

At the first breakfast they all shared, Yugi learnt from Mokuba the first duellist booted off the island was actually the washed-up Bandit Keith. He laughed. How times have changed.

The next day the game started and Yugi was paired with the new kid. He knocked him out within seven turns – bad hands happened sometimes, and he felt a bit bad about it, but the duellist just seemed happy to have had a shot at duelling the ‘legendary’ Yugi. Joey kicked out Weevil. Mokuba kicked out Rex and then, by the slimmest margins, Joey managed to knock Mokuba out on 200 life points apiece.

Yugi kicked Joey out, as was expected (after a long, drawn-out speech about how far they’d come, that is), and he won against Kaiba the day after (again, he somehow managed to make some long overdue speech on the progression of their friendship, not that Kaiba would remember in a few weeks). He won some yen, too, and then they went home. The cycle continued, except the world didn’t need to be saved.

(A shame, really; that was always the best part).

On the boat home, Yugi thought on the trials and tribulations. Even on the day Yugi had accepted the invite to Duellist Kingdom Revisited, he knew he was going to win. Even without the Pharaoh to guide his hand and shuffle his deck, he won. He always won.

As the boat tottered about on the storm waves and Yugi listened to the creaking and cracking of the old ship, Yugi remembered his first thought upon setting boot on the isle, and decidedly renegotiated the wording: Duellist Kingdom had been the start of it, yes, but also was the end.

(Arguably).

###### 

As everything started up again with kids returning to school, Yugi spent his time behind the counter in the shop. He didn’t mind. He needed the retreat – a few months of rest and relaxation did everyone the world of good, after all. During his downtime he played other games, mostly tabletop, and read the news daily like an adult, partaking in meaningless conversations at retail counters about the weather when it was demanded of him.

Basically, he did what was expected of him.

One evening, though, on what had been a particularly lax day in the shop thanks to a weather system, Yugi’s focus on being ‘what was expected of him’ broke, thanks in part to his grandpa finally acknowledging what Yugi himself had buried very, very deep.

“You’re so much like him, you know,” Grandpa said in his frailest voice after they had finished up their dinner and all the washing up was drying on the rack. The old man was preparing for bed, although he did not appear very tired, but that was what was expected of an old man at eight o’clock. “But you’re also not like him at all.” Grandpa paused, his eyes shading. “I know you don’t want to talk about him, Yugi, but I think you should know: He would be proud to see you, and see who you’re becoming.”

Yugi looked up momentarily, taking in the gentle words. “Thanks, Grandpa,” he replied, painting a new _Warhammer_ figurine. He turned it in his fingers, smudging the groundwork of colours. “I... I think I needed to hear that.” _Everyone’s in love with this idea of me becoming the Pharaoh—but I’m nothing like him. He’d never be like this—like I’m being._

“I understand, Yugi.” None of Grandpa’s usual laughter exhausted his light tone, his eyes duller than normal. “He’s still with you.”

“I know,” Yugi responded, dabbing his brush across the feet of the figurine. “He said that to me – back then, when his spirit left the world, and he said it to me just recently, too—when I saw him at Kaiba’s tournament.” He paused, bit his lip, looked away. “The one... before the one I just won.”

Grandpa didn’t exactly reply this time, but just sighed. As he left the room, he called, “Don’t stay up too late, Yugi.”

“I won’t, Grandpa.” And he wouldn’t. He finished off the first layer of paint, checked for inconsistencies, and then put everything away for the night, moving to his awkwardly-shaped bedroom with the skylight something or someone was always peering through—but that did seem to be his life. Whether it was giant eyes, a bespectacled thief with a penchant for God Cards, or the reflection of a wayward Pharaoh’s spirit inhabiting his body, there was always something out there.

Nowadays, though, it seemed to mostly be the moon looking down on him.

He should have been pleased about that, really. After all, who wanted thieves loitering at their windows? Or giant eyeballs in the sky promising to doom all of humanity? Or...

Yugi flicked his eyes up, saw his faint reflection in the glass, and let out a long sign he hadn’t realised he had been holding in for, well, years. The world faded for a moment, as he closed his eyes to stop the onset of tears, but it was there when he opened them again.

When he settled on his covers against his pillow and brought his legs up, it took a few moments for him to realise he _was_ crying, and that the water staining his cheeks was hot and stinging and he had no business being like _this_ , he knew, but dammit...

Dammit.

_Dammit!_

**_Oh, Yugi_**.

Yugi jolted out of his stoop to look around his dark room, fleeting joy taking flight in his heart. “Pharaoh?” he asked the darkness, even though he knew he was hearing things; knew his mind was making up the history-sewn voice speaking in reassurances in his bunged-up thoughts. “Atem...” He half-hoped even the faintest apparition would appear, ghost into existence and just... hold him for ten minutes, wipe his tears and say it was going to be OK, to trust the heart of the cards like mere mortals trust a god to guide them through one life into the next.

Biting down on his lip, Yugi uncurled himself and settled against his pillows, turning his stare on the shunting moon slowly being drawn-over by cloud. He shut his eyes, worked his way beneath the cover, and let his thoughts wander off...

His thought struck a chord suddenly, piquing his interest, and Yugi let that thought fill him:

The Millennium Puzzle and sleeping had something in common: they were inseparable from one another. Although Yugi sometimes acquired a cloudy head after spending a night wandering through the maze of the Pharaoh’s mind, he had always felt incredibly rested and on top of everything; the cloudiness would fade soon enough and he would be ready to tackle a maths test without even batting an eyelid.

Since losing the Millennium Puzzle though, Yugi’s dreams had been fraught with nothingness. He had spent so long in the winding pathways of the Puzzle, sometimes meeting the spirit and other times just wandering all alone, that now dreams tended to be inconsistent with everything; they were lucid without training, and Yugi managed to control them enough to manipulate whatever he wanted—when he got them, anyway. The more time that passed from the Pharaoh leaving, the fewer dreams Yugi had.

He missed the Puzzle, missed the pathways and the winding staircases. He missed calling out for the Pharaoh and seeing him appear moments later with his warm greeting of _Yugi_ , sending the boy’s heart into aflutter. They would then spend the time together, with Yugi asking him questions, giving him thoughts, and they would strike up silly conversations they could only have in the Puzzle because the Puzzle was safe; the Puzzle was home; the Puzzle allowed them some time to sit and talk and relate to one another without the crushing expectations of the world crowding them.

His Soul Room was often their meeting place. Atem had liked the abundance of childhood, and it felt – as it should – safe to Yugi. The Pharaoh’s form appearing beside him as he tinkered with a toy he’d not seen in ten years was comforting in a way he could never put into words; in other scenarios, Yugi might have thought it was parent- or sibling-like, but with Atem...

With Atem, it was sharing the deepest regions of his mind and his soul. Atem being there, witnessing him in his barest form, was to Yugi a sign of debut love; of a deep bond with something new and beautiful and _possible_.

Yugi missed those feelings, although he would never chance himself to think on them—no less to feel them. It would end badly if the Pharaoh knew Yugi’s feelings; if he had any idea of the fondness he couldn’t speak.

Yugi missed his Soul Room, and the Puzzle; he missed the familiar weight of it around his neck; the slightly sharp edges if he caught it wrong; the sensation of safety from knowing Atem was there; that Atem would help him; that Atem, in his way, loved him.

Tonight, as Yugi fell asleep, he thought of his Soul Room and imagined that safe feeling...

When he opened his eyes he was in a warm, spice-scented embrace. Strong bronzed arms held him and in the liquid silence Yugi heard the similar, haunting heartbeat he had second-handedly heard for years in the shallow emptiness of his chest through long, piercing nights when the cold destroyed the sounds of everything but their conjoined heartbeats beneath the blanket. Sometimes, when he chanced himself lucky, Yugi would imagine the Pharaoh was lying behind him—and sometimes it really felt like he was.

Like now.

Except... now felt realer than it ever had – even when he had the Puzzle. The heady scent of Atem surrounded him with cinnamon and cardamom; with the hot, arid smells of the dessert when the sun hit it at midday. Yugi struggled from the phantom arms and fell backwards onto a soft, plush floor and suddenly he realised where he was: His Soul Room.

And in his Soul Room was Atem.

“Pharaoh?” Yugi managed, somehow, staring up at the other man. His jaw dropped open when that all-too-familiar hum purred deeply from his lookalike’s throat. “Oh, my—Oh, my Gods!” Yugi scrambled to his hands and knees and across to him, but stopped before he got too close; scared of what he would do should he take the final few steps. “Is this... Are you...? A-Atem-”

“Now, really, Yugi: Is that the name you’ve always so fondly called me?” asked the Pharaoh, a rawness in his deep vowels and purring consonants.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Yugi whispered, “Yami?” It was pathetic, he thought, how squeaky he sounded and how young his voice came out. Since the Pharaoh’s departure, his voice had deepened and flattened a bit more; Joey joked he would come out sounding like Atem by the time he was twenty.

Nodding, the Pharaoh stepped forwards. He brought up his hands, large and warm, and gently set them on Yugi’s shoulders; his thumbs worked easily over the muscles there, pleasurably working against the tight knots. “You’ve acquired a bit of something here since I left, little one,” he said, his voice careful and expression guarded. “Stress, worries... I thought we rid you of those through our years together? What happened, Yugi?”

“Pharaoh-”

“Sh, sh...” The Pharaoh leant forward, removing one hand from Yugi’s shoulder to brush his fingers over his little one’s lips, as if wiping away the formality. “Yami.”

“... Yami...” Yugi leant into the touch, breathing shallowly. Yami’s rough fingertips pressed into Yugi’s lips, real and present. “I, I, I don’t know... Just lately, since we met last—since-”

“Since Diva,” Yami replied into the charged air between them. His breath brushed against the curve of Yugi’s ear. “Yes. I remember.”

“Since then,” Yugi continued, shivering, trembling. “I’ve just- I’ve not been sleeping, and I’ve started pre- I’ve started pretending...” His blush deepened and tears budded in the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know if it’s pretending, actually. It’s not something I think about; I just—I just do it.” He dropped his head forwards and, much to his relief, it fell upon Yami’s comfortable chest. The Pharaoh wrapped his secure arms around his waist, pulling him closer to the soothing heartbeat Yugi had chased after for years.

Stealing his courage, as a sole tear down his cheek, Yugi choked out, “I pretend you’re there; I pretend you’re there with me.”

A long sigh drew out of Yami’s lips, “Oh, Yugi...”

“I,... I- Oh, I can’t—Yami! It’s not fair.” Yugi curled his fists in Yami’s outerwear, holding the rich fabric in bunched fingers. “I wish you would have stayed—just for a little while longer; a few more years and-”

“And, if I had, it would have just been a few more years after that and a few more after that- Yugi...” Yami sighed, holding him closer, raising a hand to set on the back of Yugi’s head with pressing possession. His fingers slid through Yugi’s hair, working away knots. “Yugi, I had to go; I had to return to my time and-”

“But you’re back now?” Yugi replied, nestling against Yami’s chest. “Wha- I mean... that should have been my first question... What are you doing here?”

Yami’s voice thrummed deeply from his throat. “It isn’t obvious? I felt your distress, Yugi. I had to come and make sure you were all right.” Continuing his massage of Yugi’s hair, Yami briefly added beneath his breath, “I would have come earlier, but this is the first time I’ve managed to connect our consciousnesses.”

“... Oh,” Yugi said, wistful. “I see. I-I’m fine, Pharaoh.”

“Are you?” asked Yami, though it was clear from his voice he knew the answer. “Yugi, I can tell you’re upset.”

“Yeah, well..., uh...” Yugi turned his head aside, but Yami brought it around with a finger beneath his chin. The Pharaoh tipped the little one’s head upwards, so they were looking into one another’s eyes, before he dipped down and pressed a silted kiss against his forehead, leaving his lips there as his hand drew up to briefly touch Yugi’s cheek, and then moved steadily around to grasp his neck.

Pulling back, the Pharaoh said into the space between them, “ _Aibou_.” The Japanese slipped easily from his lips, having been graced with the language through their connection, but the sound of it, as with the rest of his words, was rough and unpractised from a life being lived elsewhere.

Yugi smiled through it, breathing in the once-familiar and intoxicating smells of Egypt clinging to Atem. It was Atem, of course; no matter the way Yugi looked at it, no matter what was happening—in front of him, this young man, this come-again King was Atem. Acknowledging that, Yugi felt a stab at his heart and he swallowed audibly in an attempt to ward off the tears threatening to fall again.

“Oh, Yugi.” The Pharaoh gathered him in his strong, unyielding arms, pressing brief, flittering kisses to Yugi’s hairline. “I thought you were ready to stand on your own.” He shook his head against Yugi’s hair, burying his nose into it. “And I thought I was ready to move on, to rest, and yet I’ve found myself more often than not by the river, watching the sun brush over the waves of my afterlife, of my Eternal, and thinking of you.”

Sniffling, Yugi tried to pull out of the embrace, but Atem- but Yami- but the Pharaoh’s hold was sturdy around his shuddering shoulders, and he held him like he’d longed to be held by anyone—but Yugi hadn’t found a soul with the beauty of Yami, and how could he settle for less than Yami? He probably deserved to, in all honesty, but there was no one else – in romantic or platonic terms – Yugi wanted more than his oldest companion, his partner, his Other Me, his Yami.

But again, Yugi knew, this wouldn’t last—this closeness, this moment, these seconds spent together in the perfect storm of their hearts beating as one in their historical souls. His fingers dug into Yami’s clothes – his clothes – and held on, like grasping at the faintest, trailing edge of his memories.

“Yugi,” Yami drawled, a sad chuckle attaching to the end of his little one’s name. “I understand, _Aibou_ ; you’re scared. You have every right to be.” He pulled back, bent down, and placed a hand on Yugi’s cheek. “The world has not shown you kindness, _Aibou_. I felt your soul in those few moments we spent in the physical realm; I heard it screaming, believe me.” His face fell, his similar features mirroring Yugi’s constant mood.

“Well... What can I do about it?” Yugi asked, his eyes shifting from Yami’s face to the indents of his soul-room, to the tidied chaos of it; the ink splatters across the walls. Slowly, the lemony joy of his room was darkening to a fragile, greyed existence. “No one’s told me what to do, Pharaoh. They’re all expecting me to _know_ , and I don’t- I don’t know!”

“Shush, now, Yugi,” Yami replied, rubbing his thumb across Yugi’s lips as if to smear away the words coming out of them. “Everything will be OK. You’ll be OK.” He leant forwards, pulled him into another hug, and settled them on the floor of the room. “I wish I could take these feelings from you, but I can only suffer them alongside.”

Yugi paused in his depression, lifting his eyes from the bow of Yami’s collarbone. “What? Pharaoh, what do you mean? How could you- I mean- the Puzzle—and your afterlife—and-” Yami’s finger slid on to his lip, silencing him.

“What is an afterlife if, despite the balancing of the scales and the answering of the questions, you stay within your memories of a life unfulfilled and uncompleted?” Yami asked, his arms enveloping Yugi’s waist and pulling him nearer still. “It’s abhorrent of me, Yugi, how I equivocate about the false peace I have. I linger on the outskirts, where the Gods scarcely turn their stare, and listen to you; I share the boundaries of your universe, hoping for a door in the walled surrounds so that I might enter.

“Listen to this old fool,” Yami continued on, shaking his head. “I’ve no right, Yugi, to be this way with you. I came to give you comfort and reassurance, but here I am: complaining.”

“That’s OK, Pharaoh,” Yugi replied, clinging on to the edge of Yami’s clothes. “I think we’re both hurting a little.” Should he say that? Can he? Or was that out of turn? Yugi gave in to his self-pity, as sleep pulled at his head and ordered him to rest—so suddenly unused to the casual way Yugi had slept before, when he constantly wandered the Puzzle. His head was used to the seeping blackness nowadays, and fear pushed into Yugi at the thought of closing his eyes, and opening them again only to find Yami gone.

“Yugi, you’re tired,” Yami whispered against the cusp of his ear.

“I am,” Yugi replied, yawning.

“No, Yugi; you misunderstand me.” Yami smiled, radiating comfort and familiarity. “You’re _tired_.” He pressed his lips to Yugi’s head again, breathing in the smells of the modern age as he wrapped his arms around him and strayed his fingers into the folds of Yugi’s hair, pushing and pulling it; pressing through it with gentle, seeking fingers. “You stand very well on your own but, please...” Yami nuzzled his nose against Yugi’s head, rearranging his arms around him to pull them into a lying position on the floor. “Please, allow me, _Aibou_.”

Yugi clung to him. “Yami,” he sobbed, as the solid form of his other self faded to a faint, but still present outline, and Yugi watched himself become whole in the reality of the soul room, his breath taken as he realised – through the passing of a heartbeat against his ears – exactly what had happened. Tears budded in his eyes and he gasped in a sobbing breath, pushing himself against the faintness of Yami. “Pharaoh!”

“Shh,” Yami placated, running his hand up and down his little one’s side. “Quiet, Yugi. Let me take care of everything for a while.” His eyes, dark pools of his bloody history, stared into the gentling of Yugi’s. “You can rest now, little one. I’m here. And I’ll be here when you wake up: I promise.”

It was the dark corrupting the daylight, stretching through to a grey dawn, pencilled and penned with all the colours of their lives. Yami opened his eyes to a new day in the present, his heart full of warmth, and he heard the breath of Yugi’s voice in his ear as it whispered, “ _Thank you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading my first Yu-Gi-Oh fic! I very much enjoyed writing it, and I hope you enjoyed reading it.  
> Stay safe out there! -J


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